


The Dying Artist

by shopgirl152



Category: Original Work
Genre: Corporate America, Fictional Essay, Gen, One Shot, Reality, Short Story, art vs corporate america, dying in america, forgetting your passion, forgetting yourself, left brain vs right brain, losing your passion, losing yourself, short short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopgirl152/pseuds/shopgirl152
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was a right brainer once. Art. Music. Writing. Poetry and Photography. They were my heart and soul. They gave me breath and fueled my passion for creativity. But then, reality sank in. Jobs. A mortgage. Two kids and me being a single Mom. After a lot of soul searching, I gave it all up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dying Artist

I was a right brainer once. Art. Music. Writing. Poetry and Photography. They were my heart and soul. They gave me breath and fueled my passion for creativity.

But then, reality sank in. Jobs. A mortgage. Two kids and me being a single Mom. The bills won't pay themselves. So after a lot of soul searching, I gave it all up:

Art supplies were stuffed into craft boxes and shoved under the bed. The guitars, ukuleles and piano were all sold in an effort to provide a modest income while I began job searching. Writing and poetry were pushed to the back of my mind, all story ideas and poetic metaphor squirreled away for when I had the time to visit them again.

Time. What a bunch of bullshit. It's a commodity many of us have, but few of us revere until we're older and fail to realize how precious it really is.

I eventually found an office job. One that specializes in tracking processes, procedures and other corporate bullshit.

It was okay at first; I'd go home at the end of the day, pull out my art supplies (or camera) and get to work. Beautiful paintings of mountains and scenery; the click of the shutter on a perfectly composed shot.

Then one day, it all started to fade. I traded in beautiful poetic language for left brained e-mails that were more of a template than I'll ever admit; the art supply box under my bed acquired a thin layer of dust from three years of non-use. My characters no longer visit me now; they've been replaced by corporate jargon and job stresses that keep me awake at night. I no longer create music; I only use songs as a temporary escape from life.

Even my photography is bland; lifeless pictures with no interest.

And all because I work for this bullshit company that's part of corporate america.


End file.
